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15.9k · Mar 2014
the catlins
Tom McCone Mar 2014
dunedin. friday, three, afternoon.
set from home under a blue sky
with full& prepared pack,
a somewhat empty stomach,
and a necessity to get away from the city.
hiking boots tread asphalt down to the depot,
where, in thirty-seven minutes punctuated
by plastic seats grafted to a wall
and a mildly disjunct group of small or
big-time travellers, the naked bus
pulled in, a hematite centipede
crawling into the lot. it was a bus,
no complaints. all others' bags
stowed, twenty seven bucks outta pocket
and swung into the front-right-window seat,
bid a farewell to the beat-down
pub across the road and onto the one-way
merging into a highway and outta
town the dark bug skittered, on
schedule or something resembling it.
behind the driver, the sun came through
around the beam in the window. warm patterns
laid on skin, the countryside's broad expanse:

cylindrical bales of hay scattered about
paddocks, dark late-autumn florets of flax
on roadsides, plumes of white smoke from
bonfires in townships as small as a thumbnail,
hedgelines of eucalyptus, pine; russet streaks
through bark of single gum trees stood
off-centre in fields. sticky-wooded hillsides
punctured by fire breaks roll almost forever
and back. the rushing sound of passing cars
through the 3/4-golden ratio of the driver's
ajar window; twenty-first century mansions
verging on out-of-place. saplings emerging,
bracketed, through verdant grass patches.
museum abbatoirs. toitoi like hen's plumage
lining drainage ditches. another Elizabeth st-
(how many could be counted out by now?) tidy
front yards and milton liquorland through this
small town. an everpresent tilting sun. fields
of flowered nettle. s-bends through pancake layers
of hills. a delapidated gravel quarry at stony
creek. deer farms, sheep farms, bovine farms, alpaca
farms (favourite); another bonfire seen down a
long gulley; a power substation, all organized
tangles. a two-four 300m before the bridge into


balclutha. 4.40pm.
across the road into the i-site
two friendly ladies circle locations
to make (got a car) or try to make (on foot),
offering a ride in half an hour,
leave it to chance.
across another road, drifter's emporium
(that's the name, no joke) got a knife
to open up cans- bought no cans, brought
no cans, still nice to have one anyway.
down the road, 200ml from unichem, waste
no time, turn ninety degrees, cross a
railway, then outta town in a sec. first
photo: half highway, half clutha river. fine
shot. sit down, watch the water couple mins,
head down the road. red-black ferns radiate
under willows down the riverbank. metal
bumper-bars keep legs on, the road rolls
gentle turns, diverges from the river. stick
to the former, faster that way. no intentions
of hitching. just wanna walk. and walk. and
walk. guy yells out a car window. envy,
likely. who cares. apple tree hangs over
a dry ditch. pick a small one, gone in
a minute. probably ain't sprayed. been
eating ice-cream dinners more often'n
not the last coupla weeks- isn't much
the stomach won't or can't handle anymore,
anyway.

odours of decay from the freezing works.
seagulls sound out nearby.
typical.

down the road, the reek of death fades
out. back to grass. sit in some of the
tall stuff, under a spindly tree. put down
some ink, a handful of asst. nuts. 'bout
thirteen fingers of daylight left. no idea
if the coast is further than that. little
care. down the road the land flattens out,
decent sign. the junction was a fair bit
past reckoned, though. flipped a chunk
of bark (too lazy to get a coin out) to
figure whether the coast was worth it. bark
said no, went out anyway. gotta see the sea,
keeps you sane. past a lush native
acre or two- some lucky ******'s front lawn-
changed mentality, slung out a thumb (first
time). beginner's luck, kid straight outta
seventh form pulls over in a mustard-yellow
*******' kinda beach-van. was headin' out
to the coast, funnily enough. had been up
in raglan (surf central, nz), back down with
the 'rents now, though. out kaka point, only
one of his age, he reckoned, no schoolhouse
there, just olds. was going to surf academy,
pretty apt. little envious.

the plains spread out and out, ocean just
rose up out of a field. there's nothing
more perfect. gentle waves stroke the sands,
houses stare intently out at the mingling of
blues. one cloud hovers so far away it doesn't
even exist. down the other end of kaka point,
back on solid ground, walking into a gorge, laments
about not choosing the coastal route. but owaka
is the new destination, bout 11ks, give or take
(5ks later, sign says another 15.. some give). nothing
coulda beat that sight anyway, stepping outta
a van onto that pristine beach.

entry: gorge route to owaka. seven.
late light painted the tops of hills absolute
gold. thought maybe this way ain't so bad. beside a
converging valley, phone got enough reception
for dad to get through. said in balclutha coulda
got a room with a colleague. too far out now. lost
him in the middle of a sentence about camera film.
surprised to have even got that far. road wound
troughlike through the bottom of the gorge, became
parallel to a cute little stream. climbed down chickenwire
holding the road in place, ****** in it (had to).
clambered back up, continued walking as the occasional
campervan rolled on by. took a photo of the sun perched
on a hilltop, sent it to mel. dunno why. anxieties
over the perfect sunrise picture came frequently,
a goal become turmoil. the gorge flattened out,
and soon in countryside my fears allayed. round
a corner in picturesque nowhere, found my shot.
sat in long grass. stole it. sighed. ate a handful
of nuts. moved on. {about eight}

dark consumed the surrounding gentle-rolling hills,
nowhere near owaka, which was probably the tiny bundle
of lights nestling a little below the foot of a
mountain in the distance (not too far off, in
reality). near the turnoff to surat bay (was heading
there, plans change) a ute honks. taken as friendly.
a right turn instead of a left, farmsteads lit
up in fireplace tones, the sound cows make at
dusk. it got colder. would one jersey be sufficient?
hoepfully. stars began pinpricking the royal blues of the
night sky in its opening hues. eight-fourty-ish slugged
back about 3/4 of the syrup, along with half of a box
of fruit medley (so **** delicious), in light of dull
calf aches becoming increasingly apparent. needed
to walk a helluva lot more. ain't one for lettin'
nothing get in the way of that. lights in the distance
became the entry sign for a camp-site. no interest,
head on. past another farmhouse, stars came out in
packs. three cows upon a slight hilltop. next junction
pulled left a good eighty degrees and was on the
straight to owaka. less than two minutes later,
a dog-ute pulled to a halt and offers up a ride down
most of the stretch. didn't say no.

still stable, as two pig-hunters tell
of their drive back from picking up a couple
pig-dogs somewhere north. they were heading
out bush to shoot, thought they'd seen
another guy they'd picked up a couple weeks
ago, who'd taken 'em out somewhere they
couldn't remember. paranoia grips, but
the lads are fairly innocuous. they say it's
dangerous out here, gotta be ballsy walking
middle of the night, no gun, no dog,
all by yourself. wasn't worried, got nothing
to lose anyway (still, this sets helluva
mood). by a turnoff a k outta owaka, dropped
off. said probably all that'll be open there
is a pub, if that. bid luck and set their way.
above, the whole sky is covered with shining
glitter. down a dip and turn, **** in the
middle of the road. an ominous sign indicating
the outskirts of

owaka. approximately 9.40pm

my head loosens as i approach. the lights
form across a small valley i can't verify
exists or not between dog barks i mistake
for the yells of drunkards and lights
pirouetting from cars behind me. i slow
down i don't want to do this.

owaka is terrifying. plastic.

the street corners thud like cardboard. i
walk past a garden of teapots, a computer
screen inside the house glares through the
window pane bending breathing outward. there
is nobody here, still there is a feeling
like there's people everywhere, flocking
in shadows. a silhouette moving in a
distant cafe doorway. the sound of teeth,
of darkness fallen. thick russian tones
sound from a shelf of a motel. eyes
everywhere, mostly mine. i stop only round
a bend and down near a police station, yet
feeling no more safe, sitting in a gutter to
send mel my plans, to tell myself my plans.
i want to be nowhere again. i am soon nowhere.


out of breath, out the other end of owaka,
the sick streetlights fade into comforting
dark nestled between bunches of indistinct
treelines. the feeling of safety lasts but
twenty minutes, where another dip in the
road leads through a patch of bush, in which
gunshots ring periodically and laughter and
barking rings through. breaking down, it takes
five minutes to resolve and keep going. ain't
got nothing to lose, anyway. boots squeak like
diseased hinges all down the road. hadn't
noticed beforehand, the only thing noticed
now. an impending doom hangs thick like fog,
the thought of being strung up like an
underweight hog. walking faster and
not much quieter, the other side of the
bush couldn't have come sooner. the fear
lasts until the gunshots are distant nothing.
still alive, still out of breath, still
fairly ****** up, there's no comfort like the
sound of nothing but the occasional insect's
chirp. vestiges of still water came around
a corner and just kept coming as the golden
moon sung serenity all over. finally, a peace
came to rest over the landscape. sitting by
the road with a clear view of the moon's light
sheathed in the waters, the stars above wreath
a cirrus eye to watch over the marshland
plants leading into the placid waters of

catlins lake, west. ten fifty-one.
crossing a one-way bridge over a river winding
its way into the lake, another turning point
decision arose: continue down the highway
along the river, or head straight out and
toward the coast again. having resolved to
make it to a waterfall by dawn, and the latter
offering a possibility of this, the decision
made itself. turning back around the other side
of the lake, the road wound a couple times
up a gentle ***** out and up from the valley
at the tail of the lake, and into a slightly
more elevated valley. the country roads ran
easily and smooth, paved roughly but solid.
not a car came by for kilometers at a time.
lay on the road past a turnoff for quarter
of an hour letting serenity wash over, the
hills miniscule in comparison to home, the
sky motionless, massive thin halo about the
moon. walking on, night-birds called from
time to time (no moreporks, though. not until
dawn), figuring out how to whistle them back.
a turnoff to purakaunui bay strongly
considered and ultimately ignored; retrospectively
a great call, considering the size of the detour.
hedgerows of macrocarpa, limbs clearly cut
haphazard where once they'd hung over the
road. occasional 4wd passing, always a 4wd,
be it flash new or trusty old. you'd need
one out here. have no fun, otherwise.
monolithic pine-ish hedge bushes, squatting
giants. once, a glimmering in the sky, a
plane from queenstown (assumedly) almost
way too far to make out. the colossus of
the one human-shaped shadow cast down
from the moon to my boots. how small
a thing in this place. swamped out by
the beauty of this neverending valley.
breathless.

the road turned, not quite a hairpin,
but not entirely bluntly, a welcome
break from the straight or gentle
sway, and five minutes turned to dirt.
had to lay down again- legs screaming
by this point for rest. still, they
had nothing against pressing on. dad
taught me to just keep going. that's
the thing about walking. stop for a
little bit and you're good to go
again. pushing for the fall was probably
overkill, but no worry now. dirt road
felt so right after a good 20+ks of
asphalt, only infrequently punctuated
by roadside moss or thin grass. it
was as if beginning again (well,
kinda, if only with as much energy).
having downed only a litre of water
(leaving only half a litre more), a
litre of fruit juice and about 100
grams of assorted nuts since more
than twelve hours ago by this point,
it should have been a shock to
still be going by this point. don't
really need that much anyway, though.
gone on less for longer. hydration,
anyway, was the least of all worries,
the air being thick with water, ground
fog having been laid down hours ago.

up the dirt track, more cows. they make strange
sounds at night. didn't know anything yet,
though. that's still to come. a ute swang past
going the other way, indiscriminate hollers
from the passenger-side window. waved back
cheerily. so far from anything to be anything
but upbeat now. not even the heavy shroud of
tiredness could touch that, yet. the track wound
on forever. was stopping every half-kilometer
to stand and stretch, warding off the oncoming
aches. the onset was unwieldy, though. didn't
have long. past a B&B;, wondered whether anyone
actually ever stayed there (surely would, who'd
not revisit this place over and over once they'd
discovered it?)- certainly would've, having the
cash (apparently parts of "lion, witch and the
wardrobe" were filmed here. huh). further on, the
road turned back to seal, unfortunately, but
with small promise- surely, at least fairly
close by this point. turning a corner, a small
and infinitely beautiful indent against the bush,
a small paddock bunched up against it, stream
wound against the bases of trees, all lit by
the clear tones of a now unswathed moon, sat
aside the road. it was distilled perfection.
it was too much, just had to keep goin' or
risk shattering that image. next turn was
a set of DOC toilets, an excellent sign. must be
basically sitting on the path entry now. searched
all 'round the back for it, up the road, nothing.
not entirely despondent but bewildered, moved
forward and found a signpost. the falls were now
behind? turned around and searched even more
thoroughly, quiet hope turning to desperation
by the silent light of the moon. finally,
straight across the road from the toilets,
was the green and gold sign, cloaked in
darkness under clustering trees, professing
a ten-minute bushwalk to the

purakaunui falls. saturday. 1.32 am.**
venturing into the bush by the dull light
of a screen of a dying phone, the breeze
made small movements through the canopy. it
couldn't have been any more tranquil. edging
way through the winding cliffish track through
dense brush, the sound of a trickling stream
engorged into a lush symphony of water. crossing
a single-sided bridge across an unseeable chasm,
twinkling from the ferns behind became apparent.
turning off the dull light, the tiny neon bulbs of
glow-worms littered the dirt wall risen up about
half a metre, where the track had been cut out.
my heart soared. all heights of beauty come
together. continuing down the path, glow-worms
litter the surroundings and the rushing of
water comes to a roar. at a look-out platform
above the falls, nothing can be seen save a
slight glisten. down perilous steps (wouldn't
be too bad if you could actually see 'em) the
final viewing platform lay at level with the
bottom of the falls. they stood like a statue
in the dark, winding trails of thin white wash
through the shadows hung under trees. left
speechless from something hardly made out, turned
around and back up the stairs to where the
glowing dots seemed their most concentrated.
into the ferns above, clambered through and
around moss-painted tree trunks and came to rest
a couple hundred metres from the trail, under
a fern, under a rata. packed everything but
a blanket from nan into the bag, laid it out
on curled leaf litter and folded up into it,
feet too sore to remove 'em from boots, curling
knees up into the blanket and tucking a hand
between 'em to keep it warm. only face and
ankles exposed, watched the moon's light trickle
through canopy layers for a few hours, readjusting
tendons in legs as they came to ache. sleep (or
something resembling it) set in, somewhere
around four.

some time slightly before six, the realisation
that my legs had extended and become so cold that
they'd started cramping all the way through hit,
coupled with the sounds coming through the bush.
thank you, if you made it all the way through :>
Tom McCone Jun 2013
stuck in a hollow room,
handfuls of pictures of
years, now simple past,
rain still bound, fallen,
the quietness of absence,
the eclipse of
your dissolute smile;

one day,
years ago,
I must have woken up,
and forgotten to stay in love,

or just realized,
I never really was.
3.2k · Sep 2013
beginner's entropy
Tom McCone Sep 2013
i'm not looking for pinpointed lights
in the sky or my veins like
emission spectra of petals you leave
around my aorta
with daisy chain bracelets
whilst holding my heart like a
baby hedgehog or a shard
of glass left from broke-into car
windows our getaway driver, misery,
scattered across the pavement of your
gaze i met for five exact seconds
i remember, clean as new linen,
the geometry of your living room
seventy-six centimetres from your
glasses or the symmetry of the
bridge of your nose or the sound
of your soft exhalation.

to three decimal places i
was in love with you, then.

the rain need not spell it out in
morse for me to know that. the
sun need not rise to devour sleep;
through the ten factorial seconds of
each six-week fraction of my
life,
i dream of you.
2.8k · Jan 2014
bleeding
Tom McCone Jan 2014
does a lion lie                                                                     do lies settle here,
beneath these sheets                                                             in these nested enclosures,
i've found myself strewn upon?                                      or corridors, from i to places
                                                                                                   never invented?
or just clusters of stars,
too distant                                                                               seven things
from wherever i found myself,                                        burnt oceans into sand;
or what breathing was,                                                         two glimmering points.
or emptiness?
                      there you were,                              a sign of rehearsal,
pulling life down, on trails hung                               or omen, or,
in perfect lines from                               just kind of nothing
each &every; spark in the sky                                         at
                                                                                 all.
nine. sharp.
am i
always just
this unmotivated?


do i truly perceive
the embedding nothingness                                                      does this get
from life, or just in dream still?                                                          any easier?

    
                                                                                                         i'd rather find
                                                                                                               myself at
                                                                                          the bottom of the ocean,
                                                                    some
                                                                             days,
                                                                      i guess.                                   sorry.
"i had a dream you picked up your feet and walked on over to me
i had a dream i finished those songs i gave up on
it doesn’t seem fair to be alone in the spring air
but i added the numbers from those long ****** up summers and i found myself there
with you.."
2.4k · Jan 2014
a speechwriter's woes.
Tom McCone Jan 2014
curling up into all sweet confusions
that trickle down from
your touch,
we become the sky, as birds fall
from above. i lose
a tactician's leverage throughout
this fog; a descension
if you were the moon,
an aberrance,
if you were a single leaf,
dripping from this
tree coiling up to
the lights hung on
netted strings set under
the darkness of the sky,
where-ever you have been.
where-ever you are.

   so,
   do the stars still shine solely for you,
   the nights you most need them?

perhaps i have
gone blind,
just when i need to see you,
more now than ever.
perhaps i've just
been sleeping
a little
too long, inside this cave.

   does the sky still divide the sea?

but, undoing the buttons on your grip,
you build declensions on foundations
of realisation: with full authorship of
your motions, you know you could
go anywhere, love. you now know
away from i is any road, every treadmark
save this single one.
                             and mine is hardly treacherous,
but you'll still only find me in mountaintops,
so i could barely blame you if the path gets
too narrow, or too long-wound.

   do the clouds still turn images
   in full colour, late afternoon, to
   remind you of shapes i imitate
   in all fractured disappearances?

i've seen retreat from so
many sides now, the addition of
yours could
hardly make a dent. not that i
would not lament a loss like you,
more than anything.

   yet, don't
   worry, never
   worry, i can still stay in motion.

still, if you see fit to
collect all broken pieces of me,
and build up this cottage, or nest, you can keep
your heart here long as
you like, darling.
2.0k · Dec 2012
homemade feathers
Tom McCone Dec 2012
thought breeds fear breeds hesitation breeds inactivity breeds regret breeds sorrow breeds this second
lying against the wall, heavy paint consuming terminal strands
ink stains on two-dollar offwhite notes
whose words are these?
not sure.

this second breeds disappointment breeds apathy breeds hopelessness breeds fatigue breeds long sleep
rivulets make short indents, slipping clockwork makes little difference                                                      
words by heart fall from cracked lip skin                                                                                                      
whose laments are these?                                                                                                                                
I understand.                                                                                                                                                    
and wish I didn't.
1.8k · Nov 2013
sapphire
Tom McCone Nov 2013
my replacing takes part by small
designs. displacements accumulate,
until some day you look
out the window or
breathe to check you're still
alive; and, like that,
this weight will be gone.
this burden, effortlessly
dissipating.
this lament reaches from all hollows.

'cause you only reap from seeds
sown, right? it never
rained once.

you know, though,
i, likewise, never threw a single one down,
and instead just bit my tongue,
carrying out schematic emptinesses.
these hollows fill out and
encompass the entire world;

at the focus of everything,
i act out absolutes
and do nothing at all.

these new fields still look
burnt. i still turn soil, hoping for
salvation.
what if it rains?
will i cope?
will i drown?
1.7k · Mar 2013
petrichor/soak
Tom McCone Mar 2013
The rain came down.

I sat on the doorstep,
eating tinned peaches,
and the rain fell.

Walking out, into the city,
life falls in one-two beats;
being nothing and comfortable,
the architecture stows straight lips,
moves on, the rain falls.

Freight rolls, wet tracks northbound,
over-bridges exuding fine china,
two fishermen idle away remaining hours;
concrete bunches the rain into shallows.

How hollow the sea, that home,
the crooked lines of the inland peninsula;
how strange, this routine, in
how so very full of emptiness I have become,
like the rain, having fallen upon ebbing tides.

The rain no longer falls.
1.7k · Aug 2015
11.42.28pm
Tom McCone Aug 2015
i walk down roadsides n smile at clouds in towering wonder and sit upon hillocks of gravel watching citylights and knowing the same kinds of light shine upon you, too, sometimes: sweet, and in flittering movements. and in this snow-flurry, a single snowflake floats down the river of endless night, and drifts lazy pattern from our respective skins to each other's; i'll clamber up, down, over valleytops and riverbeds

to find you
naturellement
1.6k · Nov 2013
ξεχνώντας
Tom McCone Nov 2013
open ended, carved under the sky,
before night arrests our bated breathing,
a long line pulls taut.
a single glimmer, thirty
seven degrees to the horizon,
devolves in absence; here,
a heaviness.
you tore the center of a
dripping plum clean to
ripples over fading plains,
corners of streets where
i stand, on one foot,
against this architect's second-best:
perfect still, bearings, city centre.
lost.

a kite string north, slight east,
the rotation of points demarcating
this pasture, a
long line becoming cycles,
tying tree-trunks like
your handwriting in switchblade font;
static inanimacy, a
song for nothing, a five
minute overhaul, the only
meaningful composition the
world will give up.
years.

taking up a pair of scissors,
you make soft moves;
kiss someone new a little longer
kiss someone new a little
kiss someone new,
smile,
skin as parchment,
fine paintings, forwarding addresses,
symbols glowing through the depths of night;
a candle, alight,
to have read you by.
a short line comes loose,
i fall down.
empty.

you fall asleep,
smile.
1.6k · Dec 2013
moonrise over tawai
Tom McCone Dec 2013
with just keys, right pocket, as witness,
truly,
i would fall a little
more with
you close enough, with
you i
could go out every night
or sleep just a little
easier. we slip
into patterned strides,
eyes ablaze under the enclosure of
sodium streetlamps.
through scraps of sienna cloud,
one star emerges:
a steady twinkle in your eyes,
a heartbeat,

a truth and an intractability.
1.5k · Feb 2014
repeater
Tom McCone Feb 2014
personification and retreat
I am here like I am here
like I am or have been here
overridden and steadfast
folded like wideswept domains
I broke walls I count splinters I pack light and swing heels I am broken most of the time and I kind of like it
it’s easy to construct
socket set memories
a forest of meaning sprouting up defining swan songs
and their resonant structures
crawl down the valley all sweet and serene
29/11/12
1.5k · Aug 2015
wishbone
Tom McCone Aug 2015
i breathe out & the world is calm. we are standing waves in the sea. i am a long distance, a collection of lip movements, and all associated aches. you were a fleck of snow i barely even saw, and the ensuing onslaught of winter. plans turn around, often; we stick no closer to 'em than our moralities- i knew what i believed, just some other day: i believed i could roll out of the feeling of wakelessness that i'd thought you endowed upon my eyelids. you were prying them open, though, and i was the one at force. "sleep, my fears and doubts", i would call to myself -round midnight- "sleep and you may escape, or somehow come closer to what you're not sure if you seek".

but my plans, moralities and i, all ambiguous at best, changed. i can't pinpoint why. you said "maybe you can smell my dying, from all that way" i said i hoped not, that i could sense you but you just couldn't tell you were flourishing.

in the heat, i would make out daydreams like dialogue, spread sense like contrails: seemingly cohesive monuments to my bearing, left out to dissipate. snowfields on sunlit afternoons. but you, you you you you you, you stay heavy-stuck to the ground through cycling seasons. variation, only nondecreasing patterns in my everyday thought. inconsistence, only meaningful or meaningless. no pain, just ache all the same.

finally, in month's transitions, i found meaning (or its absence) and realised each was a facet of the other. that all facets were tiny jewels, set into the world, puzzle-piece mirrors set just. right., to reflect the gleaming bright pearl inset upon the other side of our tiny universe, each light another stroke of your portraiture, and i found longing: to find the unknown, through all things ordinary.

and you were, at once, more than a question-mark and the statement of my circles through days. you were the taste of waking, without sharp slice of reality. you were a mirror, hung in front of i, also reflecting; and i saw eternity unfold in us each. you were, and are still, peace on the shoreline. and i was, and am still, drowning, but i can make out sand on the horizonline.

so, i'll just keep afloat, if you can do the same.
so, i just won't go changin',
shine brighter with each passing day.
smile.
1.5k · May 2014
a charioteer's eyesight
Tom McCone May 2014
you can drive me anywhere you like
i won't leave you tonight
1.5k · Mar 2013
untitled 4
Tom McCone Mar 2013
the overcast window haze casts shadows over farmlands at distance, past ferns and cottage solemnities out on plains cold and alive; meanwhile, concrete and preservative-laden once-trees cage in the zoo-horde of humanity this lovely city is built upon, through the steep divides between the walls of foreign strangers, still neighbours, calling telephone lines to the lover that makes their heart shrink in the cool sheets at a distance of eight thousand leagues under kitchen sink designs where drips escape onto a blue-grey dishtowel, strategically placed to avoid having to address the issue over farmland holidays when stormclouds gather and sleep 'til the grand show, back over the alps, as the fallabout planes drift under blue over grey with distorted fantasies sandwiched three abreast internally, whispering "you'll be here, I'll be here, seventeen minutes" as the black gown of evening bids its farewells to the long-worn ball of flame we call upon for life's little affirmations, the skin and bone we call home, the constructed caves we wish we didn't, and, letting frost's call begin, the last of the seasons hauls its bulky frame over the horizon and clusters on the fingertips of tree limbs, coercing: "let go, it's late, it's so very late" and so the sidewalks choke with debris under the wearing off of summer feet, and the declination of that peach-pit feeling of sanguinity as the blankets pile up and the distance consumes once again, long after delusion gave up the chase; we all want to be left alone and want someone to pursue us at the same time, we all dream of the grandeur of timeless monuments: the desert road, the glint of illuminated heavens, the mist's rise and fall, the electricity in her eyes.
1.5k · May 2014
found lost
Tom McCone May 2014
a moment refines
least of all i, coarse
subdivision of all
second skies, stars,
or nothing, minute
from fall. or fallen
already. asleep for
hours. hope coiled
helplessness around
her wrist, caught my
head. spent days in
space. at least, most
of them. can't help
subduction any same,
another algebra in
stone. collapse like
month's passage. hope
won't speak, every
theory is glowing. a
year dissolves empty,
replacing every field
with stripmalls to
mountains again. a
century forgets regicide.

an eternity later, we
press against the wall
like dust coalescing.
hope strings us up,
couple more
embers in the sky.
some instantaneous forever ago, i fell
1.4k · Apr 2013
penguins, at home
Tom McCone Apr 2013
Flittering feathers write sonnets
in soaring frequencies;
taking in the ocean at once,
I felt ripples brought to standstill,
damped by second's refrain,
curled back into the
picturesque blue written ahead,
but
no cloud harbours the ceiling,
no late words shown, jotted down
by the
indifferent and
invariably disappearing breeze.

The latterwork of these days took it up,
and hung it out
on lines stretched across skies and time,
betraying tender surfeit, in moments
torn out,
and,
leaving only
vague traces of
woodworn prose,
spilling out my last sentiments:

"we, once,
were alive,
if only for a moment."


In dreams she holds small collections
of sandy flowers,
above the shoreline,
as the dichotomous cluster takes theirs,
behind a fragmentary grain
in the blacksmith's hide;
written, again, are those seasick letters,
wrung out
in the dead heat of the forge,
the demands of strangers,
in stone buildings by the fireplace,
electric heater, off,
the inbetween reeling
of slightened accomplishments,
the scent of oil,
left over, from the husk of noon.

Miss and want, over again,
missing beguilement in afternoon's repose.

"come back...",
but she ain't the one gone.
dedicated to antarctica
1.4k · Jan 2014
envelopes
Tom McCone Jan 2014
starlight,
i won't forgive you,
for you haven't done a single thing wrong.

and you don't have to say
anything, i can hear
your heartbeat through the sheaves
of grass that grow back in
small increments:
i know you're there,
no matter how invisible you may
find yourself feeling, late at
nights you can't sleep to
be more like my consistencies, you never knew.

so show me a freckle on your arm,
or the breadth of the world,
or nothing at all. you've
already collected my insides.

love, life is meaningless, but perhaps
with some time and another place,
we could still find purpose. my hopes
are wearing thin, but i'm hardly dead
yet.

so, don't cry. it's okay to hurt,
like i understand you do. i'm
hurt too, but i can lick clean
all your wounds. i could be
yours
if you wanted
me to.

in dreams, i
hear the sea on your
mind, once again, and build
catamarans we'll sail out of this
disjoint union of townships and countrysides
on; and i'll gouge my heart out and pour it into the
ocean, so with each swell and retreat of the waves you can
hear how many of its contractions are dedicated to the lights in your eyes.
1.4k · Dec 2013
avoidance & nativity
Tom McCone Dec 2013
with a foot firm on clean ground and
another in the ocean,
stretch fingers clear and
hold back hold back- am i really so
rusted out? this
salt erodes
my corrosions,
nobody will
make sure i've got
any vital sign
and still
can't figure out how to cry.

sharp wreathes like
all these 'could's hang,
thick like enveloping
void or city walls or
another jigsaw port i bind to:

why are my insides so
untouched yet torn in rend? i only
feel in whispers from the other
side of an endless warehouse, or
in railway spikes driven through
the side of my skull.

wound down, held back,
and made of iron filings,
wishing for nothing but
nothing.

all these hours to burn;
still, it is i built of but scar tissues.
this is about as festive as i'll ever get.
1.4k · Apr 2013
reverie 17/04
Tom McCone Apr 2013
fall through the floor of the elevator,
    held up by corkscrew works:

   here it is quiet and
           there is invisible fog and
                     the characters are dull replicas
                                                   save for the receptionist,
                                            just a lonely purple and orange
                                                     painted singular eye,
                              and her assistant, the trace.

                               when I've found someone
                                                   I feel even lonelier
                     to know how hollow they are,
           just presets and language


           and there is
                  a terrible hole
                             in the vents,
                                        or the attic,
                                                        wh­ere
                                                             ­  everything leaches out
                                                             ­                           to the colourless
                                                      ­                                                          uncreat­ed
                                                              ­                                                                 ­ nothing.
1.4k · Feb 2013
aspiration
Tom McCone Feb 2013
wake up, feel terrible
for all the right reason
   it is all too easy
          this augmentation
                        this grandeur of emptiness

                                     it is silent

     a car traverses
  another road
humans are out there
alive and breathing and asleep
                                  still asleep
                                  eyes open
                 the humans are just
                          as empty

   in seventeen years
they will be as empty
      in paris
  or new york
  or moscow

their eyes will still speak
  as their mouths curl
and their children cry from
   their cultured gardens
the unfixed faucets dripping
     in their marble slate bathrooms

in the shower
they still wonder
what happened to their lives
          their dreams
and how they'd changed
with every pivotal moment
         they'd passed up
              for comfort
                or a new dream
     conveniently forgetting the rest

   they'll think back
to the faces of lovers
they lost to the road
   or to chance
     or to themselves
       and cry
           in the shower

            if they haven't
     forgotten how to

               recollecting
         how once
       long ago
   in a dream
       they had learnt
dreams don't mean anything.
1.3k · Apr 2014
repetitive
Tom McCone Apr 2014
in gentle circles, a single
blade amidst the field inside
slowly ascends: twists salt
earth, a mutable red-black
tree, an unbalanced myself.

a place we swayed trickles
back. i set foot, with
wish to waste enough
time to forget ever
opening towards the
light spilling out behind
your eyes.

misery sinks my teeth
into her arm, slows and
grasps
cohort as i take
shelter. as i find
metric in my own chest.
as i **** up, grow tired,
stop. watch shadows on
the ceiling. i could float
away. i could float away.
i could float away. i could
float away.

if only i wanted to.
forgetting nothing
1.3k · Mar 2013
always always always
Tom McCone Mar 2013
I'm sorry,
I don't remember your favourite colour.

I know I asked and,
I know you told me and,
  I know I forgot, almost instantaneously;
I'm sure you'd shrug it off,
say it's no big deal,
and, I suppose I might agree,
but
I'd hope that you'd find it meaningful,
that you'd changed mine.

for now, its:

the intervallic hues
of your delicately feathered iris,
blanketed
under starlit night skies,
glittering
by the sodium haze
  of cityscape lights,
and how transient happiness
set the soft outline of your cheek
  ablaze.

your freckles laid out,
like maps of constellations;
  distant pinpoints, strung up on high,
   ages old,
just waiting to fall, at a moment's notice.

the palette of the sweetness of your skin,
made brushstrokes, weaving into my dreams,
  becoming masterpieces, as
literature
rolls
  from your lips
    in dry-ice cloud
  sepia tones,
washing out black and white photographs
I'd hung up,
  in homemade picture frames,
throughout the corridors of my chest.

so,
I'm not sorry for that.

but,
I am sorry if I ever hurt you,
{I don't think I did}
I'm sorry if I'm an *******,
{though I seem to be the only one to think this}

and,
I'm sorry...

I'm sorry if I love you.
1.3k · Jun 2014
open page, i
Tom McCone Jun 2014
from heaving waves i emerge
and wander, hapless, forward,
to shallows, to piled sand and
grasses like thickened tongue.
sallow and saltbreak, this heart
has set to mend.

across field and timberline,
teeth gnash; but now they
belong to i. now, the proud
stretches of tussock weave
song through my chest. now,
lonely is an auxiliary quantity:
heart in hand, my very own,
soft clay to mould.

let us get drunk on
the stars and burdock tea.
let me find your fingers
across a chasm i clamber
up out of, only to breathe and
kiss you. i ask not for long-
desired salvation. i have
poured my own. i've enough
left to bathe you in light,
or at least to pry open your
leaf-litter eyelashes. i can
separate want and caprice.
i can want you.
                             let my desire
face west and cast to bush,
to flint, to corrals of snowfall.

i've dined in all great halls, but
i'd rather sit in your room,
for now.
1.2k · Nov 2013
tie me down
Tom McCone Nov 2013
a minute ache:
stand me up, in this dark,
in the door,
pour me out, trace out light lines,
was i ever so divine as
my eyes, when lain upon you?

turn me round, all
i want to steal
is beating inside your chest;
of all the worst ideas,
you're winning so far, so

tie me up,
babydoll.                
                 I can
run away faster than
you can, but I
won't move
if you
say
not
to
tear me apart. like you haven't, already.
1.2k · Dec 2012
Precautionary Measures
Tom McCone Dec 2012
It's too hot to sleep, or, rather, the apricot garden
looming in the darkness of the kitchen,
and my thoughts conspire,
to keep at least the back of my sieve-shutter headwork
alive and stealing electrons, from the still air;
that maze that fails to circulate,
regardless of how wide the window has been torn apart.

She leaves seashell footprints down my spine,
the sea shore of my wanting more to this life than idle standby,
the will to stand up and not feel the blood drain
to my smaller toes,
and I am losing consciousness to the sound of agapanther print curtains
only to find it, in full gain or minor refrain,
pulling hemispheric or lobelike conditions
up and out
and out
and out for
hours on end.

So, god save me or forsake me, for I
fall far too easily, into grey-backlit memory,
tasting some sickly scent of smoke and secondhand perfume through my hair until morning,
when I will get up,
wash that old life of wants or hope away,
move promptly and, without warning,
start fresh with another disaster-

Like the day before last.
Like each day, scattered through our respective futures or pasts.

Like the life I once wanted,
and have now come to hide from.
Those bits that just keep slippin' away.
1.2k · Nov 2013
any day's opacity
Tom McCone Nov 2013
to have been lead through
slumbering paddocks by
held hands; hope, the  
deity, nonexistent and relentless,
i felt alive-  
was i but the subject
of her meticulously-planned humour?
was i the joke,  
or the punchline?

boldly ripening into
mistaken aphasias, i
find my melting thoughts
matriculating into sharp
movements in the dark:
curves patterned,  
ribcages' separation, a gaussian blur of
intertwined epidermal rivulets,
your soft, slow imaginings becoming
tiny flecks of graphite smeared
a page's width, intricately sown
across skin, that light trickles
through a sliver in the curtains
to wordlessly illuminate.  

seventh memory: a peeling away,
a mandarin on the kitchen counter.
watching stars disappear  
from atop the balustrade, we sit
mere fragments apart, yet
at great distance, like  
the fog of the cities we carry out
the moments of    
our regularized lives, within.

finally, i become translucent.
yet,      
what have the stars become?
1.2k · Feb 2013
4:32 a.m.
Tom McCone Feb 2013
-I stand in a corridor and scream-

there is no echo, I am not screaming,
the scream is a landmine,
taped to every last pore of my flesh.
I make clawmarks, pulling skin off.

but the pores go on forever,
but my fears keep flowing,

like the white breaking porcelain
on the shoreline I drown in,

-I am alone-
and,

and the clock's killing me,
in slow moves, toothache,
and the rising tide of that sea.

-I am a field-

littered with bodies, just like mine:
I've discarded each of them,
when I don't want to be me.

but I want to be me.

I just don't feel this way, with any consistency.
so,

I just need some small anything,
need your love more than everything,
but who am I kidding;
you'll never love me.

-I am left to my misery-
Tom McCone Dec 2012
say something or just
keep on makin' ghost-patterned, intervening silences,
                    singing
or half-murmuring
                                 verses, those ones from slow songs under low light,
the same refrain that runs between all the others,
through the passage of weeks, stained tobacco sweet by eleven-thirty iterations;

                       [post-meridian or particulate matters only,
                                                                           of course,
                                                                        it's hard to wake before noon anymore.]


with the way these rhythms keep us down
                                                          and out,
counting the methods-
the summations of potential miseries,
and the probabilities that all would or could turn around, before the end of the week.
                                                                                        or the next one.

                            and,
outside the door, the one after that,
                                       over the acres of concrete and pale shade,
streetlit likenesses hushing air through melting neighbourhoods,
                                                            I make imaginary footprints,
wondering which, of the field of household starlit comforts,
                           is the blade of grass you cast seeds from
to inadvertently germinate and sprout a well of aspiration, the wind in a stranger's ribcage,
                                                                      continually growing, hiccoughing leaf litter,
                 with every last breath.
I couldn't think of a title, which ended up in lawn research
my sister said "I think I'm here", as I embraced another goodbye and I was already opening the door
[this was unnecessary, but I liked the line]
I am tired,
too tired for my own good. and, still, awake.
It has been another day.
Like any other.
1.2k · Mar 2013
premier
Tom McCone Mar 2013
les étoiles s'allongent dans les champs des chambres noires,
les mers, perdues dans le papier-nuit des temps,
un poisson glisse en aval
et,
le sommeil des pelouses,
vu d'en bas hier soir,
dure encore.

la lune, un orateur dans les bois; elle dire:
"j'oublie le ciel d'azur,
je deviens le nageur à heure du dîner
jusqu'à l'éclipse d'aube,
je crie sous le vide,
sous l'eau d'octobre, se termine,
et
la marée, sur ces mers,
s'affaiblit
en bruit de rêve."

et moi, dévisageant la solution des points claires,
miniscules et faible lueurs,
je m'anime,
encore endormi, toujours,
toujours endormi,
tant que les arbres respirént,
tendres et lents.
the stars lay down in the fields of darkened rooms,
the seas, lost amidst the paper mist of time,
a fish slips its way downstream
and
the lawns,
seen from below, last night,
still doze.

the moon, a speaker amongst the woods; she says:
"I forgot the skies of blue,
I've become the swimmer at dinnertime
through the eclipse of dawn,
I scream beneath the void,
under the waters of october, coming to an end,
and
the tide, upon those seas,
fades,
into the sound of dreams"

and, me, staring into the solution of light points,
miniscule and glimmering,
I become alive,
still sleeping, always,
always sleeping,
whilst the trees breathe,
soft and slow.
Tom McCone Nov 2013
from the balustrade, the canopy,
comprised of leaves and rooftops and
a diminishing colour-set above
tastes of retreat. familiarity.
she came down to my level,
spelling out instabilities and inscrutinabilities,
like a vague ruffle sent through
harmonious and imperfect hairlines:
this slight haze of separation,
a delicate circling
lust, the vulture of the ninth;

lying in wait, i sit, still,
in the corner, watching the
ceiling for hours,
singing sadnesses like,
oh no, it won't happen this way,
when have i ever learnt?
winning's a single blackout, but
i'm still awake,
still stuck stuck stuck stuck,
already given up and out.
still awake, seven
hundred and fourteen days,
a list of crimes, a handful
of loose opinions, a
devastating need;

never had i felt as if
i couldn't live, without
something i never meant to
want, this much.

with rainfall, she rescinds,
she's discovered i am but dust.

from dust, i'm made rain.
1.2k · Feb 2016
dissolver (3)
Tom McCone Feb 2016
dreamt in strange shifting blocks, interwoven and with startled faces, sentencings spoken wordless. woke up to the blurry thought:

sometimes in talk, i am confronted with ideas that in no way reconcile with my own structures. in response, i often choose to not say anything, or let it uncomfortably sit in my gut. in cases where the opposing point won't be heard, i suppose this is alright. but, when my own rooted beliefs are challenged in a valid manner, it is more akin to the silence of shame than of dignification. is this symbolic of the internalisation of a more sound philosophy, or inability to process it against the grain of my own?

avoiding argumentation where it is of little purpose is one of my prime conversational aspects, and in an overarching paradigm avoiding unnecessary speech in general. but what internally portrays as tact can come off as indignant coolness, or bitter indifference. so, do i continue to speak in only the meaningful outer lashes, or let down the floodgates to some degree?

human interaction doesn't need necessitate grave importance at all junctions, and sometimes the most comforting talk can be of nothings (which i still find myself often party to, despite my self-portrait of filtered short-spokenness).

how do i open myself more to accepting or understanding when points are more sensible than my own, and integrating them into my consciousness? for, surely, if i disavow myself from giving up dated sentiments, i shall truly stagnate.
one key lies in rejecting one's own intelligence: having been told you are smart your entire life serves to seal one in their own vaults of knowledge, despite the fact that the knowledge itself may be faulty. i am slowly learning to accept my flaws and appreciate other's praise, but not take it to heart so much.
1.2k · Nov 2013
éclaircies
Tom McCone Nov 2013
Sans toi, les directions,
et tu déchires ma tête véritablement en deux
assis sur le ciel
faire de faux
miroirs d'ors sous le plein bleu,
devenu pâle, comme des fragments de déchirure rouler,
ensemble, éloigné,
au milieu de tes liaisons symmétriques,
s'ouvrant changeant en ailes,
dans toutes les directions,
et tu déchires ma tête véritablement
en deux assis sur le ciel
faire de déchirure rouler,
ensemble,
éloigné, au milieu de tes
liaisons symmétriques,
s'ouvrant changeant en ailes,
dans toutes les directions,
et tu déchires ma
tête véritablement en deux
assis sur le ciel
faire de déchirure
rouler, ensemble, éloigné, au milieu de
tes liaisons symmétriques,
s'ouvrant changeant en ailes,
dans toutes
les directions, et tu
déchires ma tête
véritablement en deux
assis sur le ciel faire de
faux miroirs d'ors sous
le plein bleu,
devenu pâle,
comme des fragments de déchirure rouler,
ensemble, éloigné,
au milieu de tes
liaisons symmétriques,
s'ouvrant changeant en ailes,
dans toutes les directions,
et tu déchires ma tête véritablement en deux
assis sur le ciel
faire de toute ce qu'on veut.
Technically a rework of http://hellopoetry.com/poem/les-nuages-dernierement/, I think. Translation goes something like:

Without you, directions,
and you tear my head truly in two
sitting on the sky
you make false
golds mirrors, under the full blue,
became pale, like fragments of tears, rolling,
together, apart
in the middle of your symmetric links,
opening in changing wings,
in all directions,
and you tear my head really in
two, sitting on the sky,
making tearing rolling,
together,
away, in the middle of your
symmetrical links,
opening in changing wings,
in all directions,
and you tear my
head truly in two,
sitting on the sky,
to tear,
roll, together, away, amidst
your connections, symmetrical ,
opening in changing wings,
all
directions, and you
tear my head
in two
sitting on the sky, you make
false mirrors in gold,
plain blue,
becoming pale,
as fragments, tearing, roll,
together, apart
in the middle of your
symmetrical links,
opening in changing wings,
in all directions,
and you tear my head apart,
sitting on the sky,
do all what you want.
1.2k · May 2013
dawn, anywhere {ii}
Tom McCone May 2013
the door is still ajar and there is still a lamp lit
and hue spills out in a straight line
where I follow markings on the
sides of highways to forget
how I won't forget the impression
you leave on the sidewalk through
season after passage of next to
brightlit stripmalls somewhere
with snowcapped mountains
and lakes and lakes and lakes away know
I'll probably miss you

when streetlights burn down
when stoplights wear out
I'll be out on the ocean
you'll find me in
hillsides on
indian summer mornings
or in
rain flecks on train windows
winding trails around
provinces I'll
never figure out how to pronounce
you won't miss me
Tom McCone Dec 2013
sure, anyone could just as easily live in
this kind of wishful state for
ever, but we'll know:
in between seconds,                      
all wishes are lost. we fall like fat raindrops  
into the ocean;
we diffuse.                  

our lives separate.                  
we could
pretend like this is all so meaningful,
but i'm just lonely. and    
you just want to fix something.

i could lie forever. i could wait forever.
i could pretend this is all going to plan
or just going alright.                            

to what end,
though?

{the sea runs out, leaving only acres of sand}

this last part hurts the most.
but don't worry,      
you
won't feel a thing, sweetheart.
1.2k · Jul 2014
open passage, ii
Tom McCone Jul 2014
through the cusp of
predawn heavy dark i woke,
one knee too cold to
feel. stars imperfectly ablaze;
radial fractions between
soft fingersplits in overlying canopy.
at ground level, spinning
slowly, i pried a small hole
out of my cocoon of moss. drew
legs to chest. felt clean air wash
up and over me. this is all that
matters. everything. acres alone,
save trapped stoat or the small
hawk in my ribcage. kea call
up at pearl flat; hours later,
i thaw. i rescind no sentiment.
and i dare not take back a
mote of motion. my
hands mend you sweetness on hazy
days the sun careens through
dust and valleys.
                                endless spurs
on all horizons to clamber to
you, or just to find me. endless
convection to spread wing under.
endless permutations of lovers; but,
of course, nobody else
would near suffice.

down a darkened trail, sleep
heavy on shoulders, i waltz with
torch dying in one hand. beating
heart in other. a fine
day crawls up over
peaks; i sigh, smile,
endlessly think
of you.
1.2k · Apr 2013
sergeants, i & ii
Tom McCone Apr 2013
tired autonomies, days keep on flailin', seizin'; darlin', I'd
be bolder if only I'd tried. makin' plans to abandon 'em,
the dark reach and tenements of those towers of regret for
all of my inactivity or self-targeted hostility, and those dreams
meant everything to me until awakening into morning hours
or afternoon, more likely, with the dull grip of uncertainty
shudderin' all the windowpanes back and forth lightly, oh
so **** delicately, and I think about you as soon as I've
drawn up ambition to make any kind of move, the pieces of
the vast puzzle I've called your mind for the better part of
the calendar dates I've drawn up into fifteen gauge shells of
the ghosts of my past, those that follow my footprints in evenings,
the pools of aluminium meltings and lemon extractions
to constrict the summer hours, convictions that bleach out
all other chances of hope.

so relinquish your grip on my red and unfolding heart I've
been beating the syllables of your name with, and abusing
the page width of headspace, serving only to alienate the
froth on the shoreline of daring chances: I'd have given
my all at the sight of romance, but I sit here with no
glimpse of intention from you; the crestfalls I subject myself
to, not for the sake of lack of want, but full lack of what
I'd do if I called and asked where you wanted to go at
three a.m. or five p.m., or any other canonical time of
the day; I'd spend any of 'em with you, and I'd
ask, but I'm somewhat sure you're not that into whatever I
could mean, or whatever my words do seem to transcribe themselves
upon contact with your mind, so keep on existing and I
will do the same.

[or, anyway, at least I'll try]
1.1k · Jul 2015
dialogue
Tom McCone Jul 2015
swam placid through last night, or today, or is it all the same and continual? anyway, i found myself curled up in a lounge, alone, by a great fire. small, hidden beast i, frozen-still stars floating through, wondrous lopsided flesh against the ground; cradling tiny empty warmth, just where i wanted you. & smile. thunder through birdcries through dawn. wanderlust aching me out to the waves, threshing and soft, held at the hand of heavyset horizon. & think about miles. & fake smile. sometimes, our own oceans get rough. i'm so proud of you, though, keeping afloat. got home and muesli and songs and coffee and trees and ah. breathe. set utterances on the seabreeze. sent north n' west.
knots weave fine cycles in my head, like time around treestems. drifts of ocean mist, over inlet ridgeline, roar silent swells over the day. slow procession. slept enough for the both of us, trying to find you, immersed in soft clouds; dulled and fantastical. everything brims on the edge of everything else. a couple sparks away, in a small town somewhere, raining half the time, caught up, tangled in songs & sunsets. smiling gently into the light. i'll call it dawn, sooner or later, but still imagine your radiance, in stead.
bleary eyes and tiresome channels of blood but, small circling sparrow on the horizon, light through leaves, rivulets of smile bleeding up my cheek.
time's strange hands curl round and tie cycles; here, i was but a small chip in the woodwork. some little sharp snag life'd carved out, to grasp nothin' but air. but, somehow, the same air takes on resonance within the hum of my chest, tubelamps ever aflicker, and im sat staring, dead on, into the firm couch-material, trying to calculate the speed of sound from you to i. 'cause i swear i heard the impression of soft lips inch up next to my frozen ears, and in breath let wash warm reprieve, up and over me, and yes i am sad and terrified you too will fall into aches (which is explanatory for my perhaps often with-held-ness) and fold, just as terrified, away. never disallow one self's happiness, though. regardless if the meaning to it seems absent. just learn how yr smile works. and i hope i'm a crease, like sometimes you are the light pouring from my eyes. folding away. sometimes, you are, too, a smile brewing in the corners of my lids.
dreams form light clusters around my weary head. felt really strange today. inexplicable sadness, in the most beautiful things. saw you in people. little parts of you, everywhere, in voices and eyes. enough to fill me to the brim of connectedness. all these effervescent bubbles, so close to shimmering enough to be you, but never, ever you. much as i wish so. would if i had changed time, today or ten years. fabricate this daydream, i now weave slow on settling fingertips. the shock and sting of knowledge. your eyes. sweet smile. and the acres we've still got to pad through, stifling breath floes, changing stories at the tip of the stem. soft touch as dawn breaks. ghost, i know.
1.1k · Dec 2012
conceit
Tom McCone Dec 2012
I stood, with back arched, once,
waiting for pride to find my side,
I tied the knots inside of my stomach into hope,
I was still sinking, then,
but could not recognise the inertia, for what it was,
or which signpost heading it carried.

I thought I could be
whatever the world entrusted my hand to,
I thought I could calm these sporadic weaknesses.
I spent time thinking everything over.
or, wasted time. I'm not sure-
I never reached any reliable verdict.
still,
the world turned and turns.
things hardly change.
or, at least, seem to consistently stay the same.
and the thoughts that keep me in constant check,
foliage on my branches,
weight on my ankles,
ice under my tread.

Someday, I'll figure out what I am,
what I should probably do,
how to live
like I mean it,
like I'm not planning to die
or live, trying.
1.1k · Nov 2013
Discourse, Second Movement
Tom McCone Nov 2013
Because you slay me with every pinnacle of triumph and ruin, oh mechanics. You rewind, even in progression; you tell me all the words to say, in which sheet set to lay. You hold my severed head on display, for the entire universe to witness.

And my demons are like butter knives, not sharp enough to draw blood, but that still doesn’t stop the hurt. Or, worse.

Spent summers beneath the trees, winters beneath the weathers, years amongst all that which I will never understand. So, when you gave me your hand, I said ‘aye’, for I was never sure anyone would want to realistically be mine, never convinced my tiny heart was anywhere somebody could draw their line and say “Stop. You don’t have to say a word.”

As good as asleep in the crowds and mobs and downward cast eyes, three abreast in some channelled breeze, the main streets are the ones that mostly step on the tender part of your foot.

You know where I am, though, at least in body. There’s always the mind which never follows, which instead chooses to wallow in ‘what-if’s, vague references to reverence at its darkest moments. Because blind faith will get you nowhere and I have no reason to believe in anything, save the fact that I have this idea in the back of the recesses of my most null-set mind; and did you let the angels tell you lies?

That you’re not coming home tonight?

Well, you could rest in these sheets of mine. I guess they’re not the best, but I won’t tell any lies. So don’t
cry, don’t cry. The saline runs through all the gears in my chest, and over the season you’ll keep pulling what’s left, ‘til all I have is not an ounce of this mess, this beating arrhythmia I try hold dear ‘twixt my ribs.

So call me accountable, I can shoulder the blame. And ‘cause I’m never quite sure if anyone else would want to do the same, all I ask is that you remember my words anytime you hear my small name; just remember my lips and love of rain.

For some god built me on plans it kept locked up for so long, as it never did quite figure out where it went wrong; and so now flows through my lips as I utter my songs, as penance for all moments in which I am never strong.

So I keep confessions locked inside my book, I keep its wry disregard at length of arm’s crook, the broken blood carriers and my eyes it shook, said “Son, don’t you worry, for today you are your own hook” I replied: “Oh, wonder and majesty, I’ve done you oh-so wrong, and for what? The sake of singing sad songs?” “I knew there was no answer before you came along, I knew not of your virtues nor the day, eternally long.

So, don’t you dare take not a single of my words, for whatever I call mine is already gone to the birds,

to the birds,

to the birds.
Oldish, semi-rewritten.
1.1k · Dec 2012
Across a sea, treacherous
Tom McCone Dec 2012
scene: Fast-food outlet half plastic paper cup rolling aberrant twixt the fingers of a mild breeze, leaving traces of hollow sounds against the leg of a bus shelter.
~
Feeling diseased, predominantly symptomatic of the hard shutdown and cardboard cutout nervous impulses of this nigh-fluttering arrhythmia, the haunting thought of how I really just can't do this anymore, permanently leaving dwellings of what could've been in sheltered murk; remembering the sound of exhaling as I had fallen to delicately brush your cheek, the little things you never noticed... you never did notice, did you?

[
not that I gave you any reason to.]

And, now, it's all loss and letting go or giving up: so, nothing has changed, save for long-deliberated decisions finally made, regarding quitting and cutting down on thinking about such matters and moral dilemmas whilst time dries out; I have more lives to lead, do I not? Even if, once, the belief was that you were all the life I needed, in whatever meanwhile we tangled up in our collective noose-knots. Even if I thought I'd loved you.

Left with the curtain pulled, grey rolling hilltops, all I have to admit is that there's no reason, any more, to get messed up over these bits like gravel and tar into tender soles; it all drops out with disaffected expressions, a little pain [
much, much less than would eventuate, if circumstances were left the way they are*], and those lingering half-degree burns your lips left around my breath.

It's not your fault.
I never meant to fall for you in the first place, anyway.
I'm trying to make things right.

So, don't worry any more, for to neglect the corridors of my heart set aside for you is all I can do, now.
reworked bus-stop chest-leakings.
1.1k · Dec 2013
team captains
Tom McCone Dec 2013
as late as it gets,
this would make the
fifth or fiftieth orbit in the cycle
a closer pattern; you know
i can't help but
keep trackmarks of these things,
the collective foolishnesses
we stock up and hold
ourselves like hostages at the
hand of-

of course:
it ain't your fault,
life like this just
aches a little too much,
a life of ingratiated and
incapitulating desperation always
suited me just fine but,
sugar,
right now,
i need something more to
keep me from
wanting to breathe less,
like i've been doing,
the past however-long
you've taken up residency
inside of me.

in a small town,
i'm too caught up in transit
to ever be able to
light fires, like you could be.
i know you'd never hurt me, but you still tore me apart,
just like i asked.

all i make are eternal apologies.
1.1k · May 2013
high society
Tom McCone May 2013
it's like
early season, leaves out
on the low twined branches
with the thought of
    you like
so many cabbage moths
(small white, actually
butterflies)
                       (moths are better anyway)
flittering
fo

r one moment I
say
"you are beautiful" th

e
breeze carries your
white laced wings to my
soft cotton, the canvas I
spread over my
winter-long
in sec ur i ties, 'cause I'm
still like
when I was sev en teen and
believed and believe
you'd never
really
want
b
roken
little
sad
little

me

anyway. and the
air comes in
from the northeast and
you-
-starry eyed-
-dance away, like a
soft
spring laugh.
1.1k · Jul 2015
peripheral
Tom McCone Jul 2015
under the frigid sky i
slow& wonder; somehow
gather hope. pass under
bridges. feel the same, et
cetera- the same, always.(
sometimes, there's no storm.
or, at least, as far as an eye can see.
)sometimes, we get hollow. if i
am, i am
happy& hollow, with you,
though.
                   know this, always.

green and gold were the days i
spent learning the architecture
of your smile. the hues still colour
these afternoons in abstract: small
patterns in the woodwork. an
accumulated sunbeam, late
morning.

continue, sing songs. breathe
most of the time.
someone once
wrote:
               "life is but a joke if
you make it through laughing"
little sigh
1.1k · Aug 2013
walking/walking
Tom McCone Aug 2013
dawn's clouds curl upon
the cycle of horizon. light
seeps, wells up in a silent
garden of distant coastlines
and suspensions of dust
particles. torn pinnacles
arrange in geometries known
only to collapsing cities;
boulevards of tremulous
ghostlike figures, swaying
staccato below collected
damping leaves in perfect
symmetries against the sky of
tiled grains.                          
                     oh, if time stood
still. if the blood could freeze
in my capillary beds. if this
feeling would last for the
remainder of days.
1.1k · Mar 2016
leavin' (pt ii)
Tom McCone Mar 2016
so far, so great, & the promise
of so long lingers on tomorrow;
hung on tenterhooks, staggering
sparks run through the early hours
as realisation hovers. that only less
than the length of a week, now, may
hold my consignation to this side
of another stretch of soil, another
long dream.

& everyone i've ever and never met
will look up at stars the same, but
all my constellations, bent n mirrored,
will flare up and light out footstep
patterns like eye-blink,
surveying all that was lost and found.

but, for now,
gales whip up a storm outside,
like the electricity planted
in my gut. another
momentary awakening.
1.1k · Dec 2012
stutter-stitch requiem
Tom McCone Dec 2012
faint voices crackled, fourty-five minutes *******,
I had heard the radio with windows open,
the words melting through copper alloys,
                  the dreams all turning to dust,
left these thoughts until last, dusk eyelid flicker, and...

                          and now I'm all spent

and can't keep these lines of narrow survival held up anymore,
and everyone's apologising,
and the rain, just waiting to fall, hangs on stagnant breeze.
                                       so, we could wait around, or get up and run right now:
                                                 full eyes drinking the harvest moon's glow,
                                                            secondhand stories told poorly at best,

                                                                       killing time until
                                                     intoxication
                                     burns old ghosts,
and I'm still burning down with each breath of wind,
each charcoal fragment snaking into alveoli,
each compromised lie, illumination,
reaches so far within,
dragging out moments between heartbeats, just like you.

*just
like
you
20th submission. woo. thanks to all my followers or kind strangers or anyone else you're all kinda really cool and stuff. <3
Tom McCone Nov 2012
you never realise how little time you have.

I was late that day,
and had to be rushed into a tiny theatre,
where two old ladies occupied the front row,
and, in the back row,
exasperated and whispered apologies,
I took my place, next to her.

we sat, intent,
gazing at the projection's motion,
hands slipping into embrace and retreat,
every five minutes or so,
under the lightsoaked linen, thrown over us,
thread count in french or czech,
I would turn, unnoticed,
to gaze at her cheek,
the fine glimmering reflection;
I'd understood that even less.

I hadn't realised that it was the last hour,
'til she grasped my hand
with both of hers,
as we walked to the carpark,
wordlessly.
in that silence, it was clear.
I felt every passing minute,
each a fresh wound,
blossoming within the last,
and, in late revelation that we'd naively spent up
so many sun or moon's passages;
to think this was the devil's purse, finally running dry.

outside of the scattered lights of my building,
as we sat, in some stranger's station wagon,
bound to our respective seats,
those fleeting moments crumbled,
those minutes, those waning seconds,
if only to have had one single instant more,
to never have seen the end.
but, it's never that easy.

I hadn't noticed that she was wearing makeup,
until I saw her mascara run,
through my own bleary eyelids.


And, in that moment,
amidst that grand crescendo,
one kiss on the cheek,
another, clumsily strewn across lips,
a bank of regret,
and I had already closed the door,
walking, silently leaking,
out of her life.
1.1k · Apr 2014
rain inside
Tom McCone Apr 2014
wake up on the other
side of noon, bottle of
whiskey within grasp.
start sluggin'. who needs
today. water runs in
slow patterns through
arteries, woodwork,
some stranger's teeth.
rain runs inside of
me, coalescing, cold,
pure. washing away
the troubles of yesterday
in exchange for this
new sky. it still
looks the same. in
exchange for this day's
melancholia: it will
persist and hang,
a fog to stumble on
below. a tired footstep,
to spurn dreams where
there's something else
here. to hide from
the nothingness that
falls in fat drops from
potential.
but i'm not asking anything
1.0k · May 2013
les nuages, dèrnierement
Tom McCone May 2013
dans l'étirement lent des tardifs
après-midis tu
distilles en colonnes, poussiéreux
saumon peignant de faux
miroirs d'ors
sous
le plein bleu, devenu pâle,
comme
des fragments de déchirure
rouler,
ensemble, éloigné,
au milieu de
tes
liaisons symmétriques, s'ouvrant
changeant
en
ailes, dans toutes les directions, et
tu
déchires
ma
tête
véritablement en deux

assis sur le ciel
faire de toute ce rien
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